


The Best of the Best (And the Worst of the Worst)

by pinklights



Category: Black Widow (Comics), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: (Very) loosely inspired by Killing Eve, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Assassins & Hitmen, Blood and Violence, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, Light Angst, Mutual Pining, Paris (City), Romance, Secret Identity, Shameless Smut, Spies & Secret Agents, Spycraft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2020-10-27 08:37:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20757485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinklights/pseuds/pinklights
Summary: Bucky Barnes serves as a consultant for SHIELD after retiring from superheroing. Natalia Alianovna is an assassin who's been drenching Europe in blood for a couple of years now. Theirs is a love story; and, like any proper love story, it starts with a murder.





	1. Ah bah d'accord

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Warning: This chapter contains descriptions of self-harm, substance use, and implied suicide.)

"What do you see?" 

Sharon asked Bucky from the other side of the table. She'd called for him in the middle of the day and he begrudgingly had to peel himself from the book he had his nose in to meet with her at the SHIELD headquarters, a heaping building of glass, fortified with the best defense systems the planet has ever known. The two of them convened in one of the conference rooms that had a good view of the East River but he wasn't there to stare into the distance and contemplate the rest of his life as the sun set around him. He was there for work.

Before him was a spread of files—crime scene reports and photographs of a dead woman lying face down in her own pool of blood. He didn't understand why this particular case was brought to his attention. Saving foreign dignitaries from drowning in the middle of the ocean, underground human trafficking syndicates, or even alien invasions—those were up his alley. This was a suicide. 

According to the report, Anna Canterbury stood at five feet six inches, had long blonde hair, and daddy issues. Daughter of an influential statesman, Anna was infamous for being a party girl and spending her father's money up and down the Iberian peninsula. On Tuesday, she was found dead. She had bled out after slashing her wrists in her family's townhouse in Kensington Square. There was a hastily written suicide note left on her computer and nothing else. 

"It's too clean," he muttered, tracing the slash in one of the photographs on the table.

"Exactly!" Sharon shuffled through the photos and presented a cleaner one from the autopsy. The lacerations on the girl's wrists were created with surgical precision—clean and deep, not at all looking like the work of someone hopped up on ecstasy, which they also found in her system.

Still, the case didn't look like anything they'd need him for. As a consultant, he was tasked to work with SHIELD on strategic operations and not much else outside of it. "Sharon, why are _you_ investigating this?" 

"Because it's not just Canterbury." She slipped out another folder from her slim briefcase and opened it on top of the files. "Nicolo Belize, Tanya Verovich, Leah Saunders, all dead within the year."

Bucky skimmed through the files and found no links between their deaths. As if reading his mind, Sharon continued. "No M.O., no signature, no relations. Just a string of murders in Europe. A friend at Interpol tapped me for this, thought we could bring something to the table. They're assembling a team."

The blonde looked up at him with those big blue eyes no one could say no to. They were overlooked weapons in her arsenal that she particularly used on the Super Soldiers in her life. Bucky sighed and closed the folder.  "You know, I'm supposed to be retired, living along the Italian coast or whatever." 

She grinned, almost wickedly, and took out a couple more files from her briefcase to pile on top of the ones already on the table. "And yet here you are." 

"I'm just a consultant." He shrugged.

"And you're the best consultant we have. Admit it. You kind of miss it." 

"Maybe. But I'm also tired."

"I get that." Sharon picked up her briefcase and stood, heading for the door. "The case is yours if you find something." 

Bucky dismissed her with a wave, leaning back against his chair as he stared at the files on the table. He didn't need to do this. He was retired. After the whole part-time black-ops Avenger thing and the getting exonerated from the crimes of the Winter Soldier thing, he was done. The team has grown and they didn't need him there. Bucky Barnes was a private man who can do whatever he wanted. And yet he stayed in New York, stayed close. Consulting occupied his brain and made sure he got out of the house every once in a while but it didn't require much else. He was content. Hell, he was more than a hundred years old. He deserved his peace. 

But still, he reached for the folder and opened it up again. Sharon could have picked any brain for this case (if there even was a case) but she picked his. It was only after a few hours of looking at crime scene photos and reading through police reports that it clicked. They weren't ordinary murders. There was a level of intricacy that went into these deaths, a high quality standard. They were assassinations. And he'd been so very good at those once upon a time.

* * *

Natasha loved Paris and not for the reasons tourists loved Paris. It was a big enough city that one could easily disappear in it, its streets are winding and nonsensical to foreign visitors, its population a hodgepodge of different cultures and personalities. Anonymity was easily attainable in Paris. She loved the city so much that she's set up base there and maintained an apartment, a place to come home to after jobs. The Bastille district was buzzing that Friday morning. It always was, Natasha noted as she sat al fresco at a café while reading a newspaper. Her sunglasses covered her eyes (and a healing bruise) which made her look like a mysterious Parisienne enjoying her breakfast and morning coffee and not an assassin looking for her next target in the classifieds. 

A young barista holding a pot of coffee approached her with a smile. She's become a regular at the small establishment and thus had perks like friendly service and extra coffee (sometimes even extra croissants.) <"More coffee, miss?">

_ Good graces! 52.490582 _

_ Wanted: flower watcher. 13.309826 _

<"No, thank you. Just the check please."> The redhead smiled up at the young man as he scurried away to fetch her bill. Finally, a new job for her. Anna Canterbury was such a messy op that it almost made it not worth it to kill her the way she did. She still had some blood stains on her favorite white Pucci boots. 

Natasha stopped by the shops before heading back home, newspaper clipped under her arm as she made her way casually through the streets. After picking up lady products as well as a new wig and a couple of new shirts, she was going to do more research on her next target. Her apartment building was located behind a cheese shop with a quaint courtyard on the ground floor where she'd usually meet her neighbors in passing. Madame Beausoleil lived on the first floor with her husband, a small family and a mousy old man on the second, and a workaholic couple in the fourth. There were at least three more tenants in the building but she never saw them and never paid them any attention. Like most people who lived in the city, they minded their own business, much to Natasha's advantage.

<"Someone is moving in today,"> said Madame, the graying old woman hauling up groceries to her apartment. <"American, my husband said.">

<"Oh? Alone?"> Natasha made a show of checking for mail by the respective mailboxes, knowing that all the important mail she received was directly delivered to her apartment. Ivan liked dropping off things for her, like money and information.

<"A bachelor."> The old woman grinned and carried on up the steps. Natasha watched and waited until she was out of sight before she dropped the smile and shoved the bills into her tote.

Her own apartment was located on the third floor of the building. The woman who lived on the same floor as her was away on vacation and so she's relished in the silence she was gifted for the last couple of weeks. It was a simple one-bedroom with an open concept layout, which she preferred. It was tastefully decorated but not overly luxurious. The furnishings were simple enough that no one would bat an eyelash or question where she got her money from. Sometimes, a stray cat would come to her window sill and ask for food. She'd sometimes feed it, most times though it was ignored. Her job didn't afford her any attachments, no matter how cute and cuddly they were.

Natasha dropped her bags by her door and tossed her keys into a catch-all bowl in the foyer, taking her newspaper to the living room with her. It's time to work. So soon, too, after the Canterbury case. A quick search of the coordinates on her computer gave her the address of one Nicolai Voigt. He was a mafia leader who had just overthrown his previous boss. He controlled half of the drug circuit in Germany and he was doing a sloppy job at it. Natasha rolled her eyes but the alert from her bank says that she's already been compensated greatly for the job and it was her mission to follow through. 

She was about to pack, hand already on a weekend bag she hid under her bed, when she heard a loud thud coming from above her apartment. The building was old and sometimes she'd hear footsteps from the hall if the person's steps were loud enough. It was both a pro and a con.  Another series of thuds followed and then a loud curse. _Definitely American_. Natasha narrowed her eyes and grabbed a bottle of wine from her cupboard before stalking out of her apartment and up the stairs. If this American was going to be an annoyance, she was going to make sure he knew she was annoyed. 

She knocked three times and he answered the door in exactly fifteen seconds. "Bonjour," she greeted, the smile on her face clearly not friendly. 

"Bonjour." The man looked a little disheveled and tired. 

<"Welcome to the building."> Natasha presented her bottle of wine—it was a cheap red from Bordeaux but the fancy French name would be impressive to any American. <"We are mindful of our noises here.">

"Oh, I'm sorry." He accepted the bottle reluctantly and scratched the back of his head with his other hand. She had expected him to be dressed simply, even in a track suit like she's been seeing on so many tourists lately, but he wore a dress shirt, slacks, and leather shoes, one of his hands gloved. Only his left. _Interesting._ "I'm moving some furniture and—ah, désolé. Parlez-vous—" 

A hint of amusement graced Natasha's face as the man bumbled about. "I speak English." 

"Oh. Thank you." He physically relaxed in front of her and smiled. _Ah_, she thought, _that was something_. "And I'll keep the noise down. You won't even know I'm there. I'm only staying a couple of months anyway."

It's been a while since Natasha's been curious about anyone who wasn't her mission but the American did have the clearest blue eyes she's ever seen. Maybe she'll let herself indulge in them after Berlin. She nodded and was about to turn to go back to minding her own business when he made a noise and presented his hand for her. "Bucky Barnes," he said. 

She hesitated for a second before shaking his hand, grip firm (just like Ivan's, she thought, to intimidate and also to leave an impression). 

"Natasha."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
_Chapter Title: Ah bah d'accord - Juniore ♫_
> 
> So, this is new! This will probably get updated every week just because I want to actually write this well lol. Thank you for reading! Feedback is always appreciated <3 


	2. Killer Queen

Voigt was two tables away in the gambling hall from Natasha, a drink in one hand and a woman in another. He stood tall, his figure robust despite his age showing on his face. Her end goal was to catch his eye enough to make him want to talk to her. That shouldn’t be so hard. Based on information her anonymous new client sent her, the man liked to gamble as much as he liked leggy blondes (despite having a wife a three young daughters). It wasn't that hard to create a disguise just for him. Half of the men in the world were weak for women. It made killing them all the more satisfying. 

Around them, the casino buzzed. She'd been playing roulette passively, grinning and squealing every time she lost or won. He's glanced over at her once or twice, a smug smirk on his face every time. 

<"Ah, lady luck is playing tricks on me,"> she told the man next to her, her deeply accented German spilling from her mouth. If there's anything disgusting men liked more than leggy blondes, it was leggy blondes who looked confused and in need of rescuing.

Natasha looked up and caught Voigt staring at her as she tucked a strand of her long golden (fake) hair behind her ear. A small smirk, a tilt of her shoulder to aid the plunging neckline of her dress, and he was on his feet. How could not have seen how much of a bait she was? 

<"Another round, miss?"> the dealer asked, rolling the dice in his hands. 

<"Of course! I'm betting on red this time."> Natasha grinned at the man and leaned closer as the game started again, placing her chips in front of her. 

<"Black for me."> A deep, billowing voice beside her said. She was acutely aware of how close he was standing behind her, how his hand hovered over her lower back before he placed it on the curve of her ass. 

She looked up at him, looking surprised but not resisting. At six foot two, Nikolai Voigt carried himself knowing that he was a man with power. He grinned at her, teeth peering through a greying beard, and squeezed a bit. Natasha yelped and moved half an inch away which amused him more than anything. 

After losing to black, she gathered her remaining chips and excused herself to go to the ladies' room but not before giving the man a knowing but innocent-enough look. He followed soon after and followed her into the men's room, whispering 'how much' in her ear as he crowded her by the door, hands on her waist. Natasha gave him a smirk and pushed his hands away to walk over to the sinks. He chuckled and watched her closely as she pulled a compact from her small purse to powder her nose, taking her time. He was patient, she'll give him that. But as she took out her tube of lipstick, he advanced slowly, hand grabbing her ass again and more firmly this time. 

<"Where are you from, fraulein?"> He smoothed his hand over her, fingers gliding over smooth satin. 

<"Romania,"> she lied easily. <"I came to study here."> Natasha puckered her lips and turned to him. His eyes were full of lust and when she tilted her head to one of the stalls (and it wasn't one of those disgusting bathroom stalls either, it was clean and the tile sparkled, as expected of a casino that serviced only the wealthiest of Berlin) he got the hint and sat on a closed toilet seat. 

Natasha hiked up her dress and closed the stall door behind her before sitting on his lap, grinding down and letting the slinky strap of her dress fall off her shoulder. The man groaned, hands pawing at her breasts in an instant. She made a sound that was akin to something a woman being pleasured might make and continued grinding against the man, his bulge growing in his pants with each passing second. 

<"I want to see them,"> he said, panting and looking at her chest. 

Natasha, not one to disappoint, smiled and slipped both straps of her dress down her shoulders before baring her chest to him. He was all red now, his mouth about to reach for hers when she pulled back. 

<"Not yet. My lipstick will rub off."> she breathed, cupping his sweaty cheek before he could protest and leaning against his ear. <"I want them to look pretty when I suck your cock.">

Voigt groaned against her, his breathing heavy. When you're a forty-something overweight man with a bad heart and liver, all this dirty talk could be too much. Natasha’s hand busied itself as she reached for a small syringe that she had strapped on her thigh and smiled at the man who was two seconds from coming undone underneath her before sticking the thing into his neck, injecting a concoction of drugs that would induce a heart attack.

He instinctively grabbed her throat when he felt the prick of the needle but she could only guess that his vision was already impaired with black blotches and she pulled away from him easily. He started cursing and calling for help, one hand reaching in front of him and the other pulling the syringe from his neck. It clattered softly onto the floor and Natasha retrieved it instantly, pulling the straps of her dress back up before exiting the stall. 

As Voigt gasped for air, Natasha reached into the supply closet where she planted her bag a couple of days prior. She locked the bathroom door as she changed into a maid's uniform, stuffing her dress inside the bag with her blonde wig. She pulled her red hair back and replaced the blonde with a brunette bob. It took her two minutes to take off the makeup from her face and when she returned to Voigt, his eyes were devoid of any signs of life, a stiff one in his pants. 

She closed the door of the stall door and locked it from the inside before climbing up and landing on her feet on the other side. As she unlocked the door of the bathroom, a couple of men shuffled in, paying her no attention as she slipped out of the bathroom. 

*******

Paris was a totally different city at night. It basked in orange light, people were half drunk and half in love, some falling over each other on one side and some choosing solitude on the other. Natasha blended in effortlessly in this crowd, paying no one any attention as she lounged alone in a wine bar to celebrate her brand new pay check. She went straight there after her Berlin job and let herself relax. She even considered taking home the gentleman who'd been eyeing her from across the room but she left alone, leaving him disappointed.

Fate rewarded her instead with the image of her new blue-eyed neighbor sitting on the steps of their apartment building, smoke filtering through his mouth as he stared aimlessly at the pavement. She put on a smile and smudged the side of her lips, playing up how intoxicated she was.

"Good evening," she greeted as she walked up to him. He was still in his work clothes, his right sleeve rolled up to reveal a muscular arm. In his left, he held his cigarette. Still gloved.

"Evening." He smiled up at her but it didn't quite reach his eyes. He looked tired. Maybe she did too. "You know, it's not safe to be out so late." 

A brief look of regret crossed his face immediately after he said it that Natasha couldn't help but laugh. She reached for her own cigarettes in her purse and sat down beside him. "Got a light?"

"You laugh but I'm serious. Paris isn't as safe as it used to be." He took his lighter out anyway and held it against the tip of her cigarette as she leaned in, cupping it as he lit it for her. 

She took a drag and let the smoke slip through her lips. "I can handle myself, monsieur." 

"Somehow, I don't doubt that." 

They stayed silent for a while after that, him in obvious deep thought, her thinking of him. The silence wasn't as uncomfortable as she thought it would be, as it usually was with strangers. It was nice not to be pressed about things she couldn't explain, like why she was out at 3AM or why she looked like shit. Men often assumed that they are owed answers to these questions.

"I'm sorry but what did you say your name was again?" She said after a while, knowing full well what his name was.

"Buck— _ James _ . James Barnes." He smiled again. Americans did that a lot. "Natasha, right?"

"You remember." She mirrored his smile anyway, because it was indeed such a beautiful thing to set eyes on; how the corners of his eyes crinkled, how the edges of his mouth curled up. It brought out some youthfulness in his features. "So, James Barnes. What keeps you awake on a night like this?"

"Work," he sighed. "You?"

"Also work." She pressed her cigarette between her lips and she watched as his eyes planted their gaze there for a while, even as he spoke again.

"Oh? What do you do?"

Natasha licked her lips for him and smirked as he gulped. "I'm an escort."

Something seemed to have caught his throat and he choked, coughing and facing away from her. She laughed again, truthfully this time, as she asked if he was alright. He nodded, clearing his throat and straightening up. Natasha maintained the smile on her face, delighted with how easy it was to scandalize him. Men were so predictable.

James Barnes finished off his cigarette and killed it against the concrete step they were sitting on. "You're not just messing with me, are you?" 

She took one last puff herself and flicked the butt of her cigarette onto the pavement in front of them, watching as it disappeared through a crack before looking back at him. "What would be the point of lying?"

"You're right," he nodded before standing up almost too fast. "Well, I better get—"

"Barnes."

Both of their heads whipped in the direction of the voice. Before them stood a tall blonde woman with a bag slung over her shoulder. James walked down the steps as if forgetting about Natasha completely. "Bobbi, what are you doing here?"

The woman's eyes shifted between the two of them and Natasha took that as a sign to retire for the night. What was so confidential that the blonde felt the need to be alone with James Barnes at this hour? 

She took in her features one last time before standing from where she sat and wrapping her light coat over her a little tighter, crossing her arms over her chest. "À bientôt, monsieur neighbor," she said and turned to the woman—Bobbi. "Good night."

Bobbi only nodded and James told her good night albeit distractedly, almost dismissing her. Natasha didn't take it personally (she never took anything personally) but she was a bit bummed that her plans for the night were cut short. As she lay in her bed, her eyes bore into her ceiling, thinking of what James Barnes could be doing with his leggy blonde friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
_Chapter Title: Killer Queen - Queen ♫_
> 
> I've been itching to include Bobbi in one of my fics and The Time Is Now! I hope you all like this chapter. Comments and kudos are much appreciated <3
> 
> (Also, when I said this is was loosely inspired by Killing Eve I meant very loose. Very very loose.)


	3. Lady Sunshine & Mr. Moon

"_Shit _. He died with a boner?" An MI6 agent, Lewis, remarked as they studied the crime scene photos. 

"There are worse ways to die," Bobbi said, busying herself with the autopsy report. She'd flown in from Berlin with information about one Nikolai Voigt, a mafia leader, when he was found dead a couple of days prior. She was supposed to be uncovering his links to the Russians but it seemed like they got to him first. At least that was the leading theory, and if his death was executed any other way, Bucky wouldn't have considered it as part of his own investigation but this was too clean to be a run-of-the-mill hitman, too well-calculated. "Whoever this is, she's smart. This cocktail could kill a horse." 

"So she's a _ she _. Are we making that official?" Lewis asked, tapping a pen against a pad of sticky notes he had in his hand, behind him a board they've been putting together since their first meeting a little over a week ago. 

"Security footage found nothing?" Bucky asked Bobbi. He hasn't seen her in so long that he thought he was seeing a ghost when she showed up outside of his apartment building the night before.

"Nope. The cameras were angled weird. It only showed a bunch of women coming out of the bathroom and then Voigt going in that general direction." 

Lewis put a sticky note that said 'WOMAN?' on their board, rolling his eyes at the two of them before sitting in one of the chairs to examine the photos again. "The witnesses said Voigt played every Tuesday with different women on his arm each time." 

"This Tuesday, it was one Rosamund Weber," Bucky picked up a file containing her witness statement and handed it over to Lewis. "Said he disappeared after he told her to get them drinks and more chips."

"So how did this person manage to steal him away in under ten minutes?" Bobbi asked, sighing as she laid the files down on the table again. 

"I need to see it for myself." It was the only way, Bucky thought. This was the first fresh crime scene they had, or close to fresh at least. If he could get the lay of the land, a proper look at things, then maybe he'd be able to find something the local authorities wouldn't. This type of assassination wasn't his... style. While ghost-like, the Winter Soldier's kills were a little bit more bloody than this, a little messier. Whoever was doing this was trained differently than he was.

"Okay," she nodded. "We need to get there now though. The local law enforcement wants to keep this quiet." 

Bucky nodded and both of them got up, Lewis getting up soon after he realized what was happening. "I'll meet you at Orly in two hours?" 

"Two hours. Gotcha," Lewis said. 

All Bucky could do was stare and sigh at the awkward kid as he tidied up his laptop. He wanted to tell him to stop, to stay at the office and let the adults handle it, but he'd been put in this team for a reason. Or at least that's what he wanted to believe. So far he's been good with the paper work though, an activity which Bucky personally loathed. 

Twenty minutes later, he was back in his apartment and packing an overnight bag. This was his first lead, still hot on a trail. He wasn't about to let it slip through his fingers. 

He was set on running down the stairs and hopping back into the car when he spotted Natasha's door. It had been left open with no sign of the woman anywhere near it. He paused and looked down the hall and back to the door, faint music spilling from it. 

Bucky sighed and closed his eyes. _Five minutes. Just to make sure she was alright. _

"Hello?" He called out, knocking on the door and setting his bag down. "Natasha?" 

He knew he shouldn't have been intruding, but what if there was an intruder? He crept through the apartment, turning towards the kitchen to see a kettle on the stove and no one there. Her apartment was littered with small plants and knick-knacks, wine bottles on the kitchen counter. He had one just like it sitting in his fridge, half empty. 

A sound from the other side of the apartment alerted him of someone's presence. He reached for the gun that was wedged in his pants, sitting in his lower back as his hand hovered over it, hidden by his jacket for now. He padded through her living area, the coat she'd worn the night before draped on the back of the couch as well as a lacy bra he immediately took his eyes off of. 

"Natasha?" he called out again, pushing on the door leading to the bedroom. It wasn't any less messy in the room, the lacy pair of panties which matched the bra in the living room flung on top of a pile of clothes in a corner. There were stacks of books—language books, philosophy books, self-help books—everywhere. More clothes were draping off of chairs, shopping bags forgotten near a wardrobe. The bed was made, at least, save for the dip on one side that suggested that it had been sat on. He was about to approach it (don't ask him why) when a startled noise came from behind him. 

"James?" 

He was about to reach for his gun when he realized it was Natasha in nothing but a towel, damp hair falling on her shoulders. Bucky averted his eyes. "I'm sorry. Your door was open and I thought something happened." 

"It does that sometimes. I keep forgetting to have the doorknob changed." She smiled at him as if he hadn't just trespassed in her space and made her way to the wardrobe, opening one door to pull out a dress. 

Bucky, unsure of what to do, just stood there and watched her. "Maybe I can do that for you? It's not safe." 

"My hero," she cooed, holding the dress up against herself and looking at her reflection in a mirror. She put the dress back and shuffled the hangers some before pulling out a silky looking blouse and a pair of pants instead. "But you don't have to worry about me. I can handle myself."

He scratched the back of his head. "Sorry. I know I'm overstepping." 

"No need for that. You can overstep anytime." She flashed him another smile and it went straight into his chest. The fact that she was basically naked in front of him didn't matter for a brief second. That is until she went to one of her drawers and started picking out some underwear. She held up a lacy pink one and smirked at him to which he cleared his throat and moved for the door. 

"I should get going. I'll see you later." 

"I was just about to make tea," she said, her voice reaching for him. "If you drink that stuff." 

Natasha didn't walk so much as slinked towards him, big green eyes keeping him in place. It was so easy to say yes, to stay a while, to forget that he wasn't chasing after a dangerous assassin. She had a way with her, a look in her eyes that was familiar to him. He didn't know what it was, why her presence was so inviting, but he had a job to do. Perhaps after Berlin, he'd take her up on her offer for tea. And for something else, if he was reading the situation clearly. But for now, he had to find that killer. 

"I do and I'd love to stay but I have to catch a flight, actually." 

They walked back into the main hall together and she nodded to the bag by the door. "Oh? Where to?" 

"Berlin. For a work thing." 

She raised her eyebrow for a bit before stepping back and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I see. I won't keep you then." 

His downstairs brain was telling him to stay so badly but it wasn't going to win this time. "Tell you what. I'll take your tea and raise it to a dinner. If you like?" 

Her eyelashes fluttered in his direction, whether or not it was intentional was lost on him but it made her look like a modest girl, which she definitely wasn't. "And help me with the door?" 

Bucky smiled and nodded, "And the door. Choose a place while I'm gone? I don't know this city well, sadly." 

Natasha walked him to the door and nodded. "I'll come up with something." 

He picked up his bag and looked back at her one last time, giving her a quiet nod and bidding her farewell before descending onto the steps. He didn't come to Paris to go on dates or even mingle with the locals. But as he drove to the airport, he realized that he's done exactly that. 

* * *

Bobbi jabbed a finger into Bucky's flesh arm, hard enough that it hurt. He yelped, taking his mind off Natasha, off the way she looked at him and how easy it was to give into her charms when he's only talked to her a couple of times. He was usually better than that, better at keeping people at a distance. He was supposed to be the Winter Soldier and yet there he was developing a schoolboy crush. 

"What the fuck?" He rubbed at the sore part of his arm and frowned at his blonde companion. 

"_Language, _" Bobbi said, smirking. "There are kids on board." 

"Hey!" Lewis protested, looking up from his seat in the small private plane they've commissioned. He'd been busy coordinating with their guys at Berlin, mumbling about how annoying Germans were under his breath the whole time.

"Where's your head at, Barnes?"

"The case. Where else?" 

Bobbi raised an eyebrow and flipped through the files in her hand. "Really? Thought it'd be with _ mademoiselle neighbor._"

"Shut up." Bucky shifted in his seat and busied himself with the files in front of them, as if he hadn't gone over them twice already.

"So have you boned yet?" 

"Jesus Christ, _ Barbara_. There are children on board." 

"I hate bloody Americans," Lewis muttered under his breath, keeping his eyes on his laptop. Bucky chuckled to himself and half expected for Bobbi to drop the topic but she was still staring at him expectantly. This is why he never did the whole friendship thing with a lot of people at first, but now he was stuck.

"So you have?" 

"No." _ Not yet_. "I'm taking her to dinner when we get back." 

"Gross. I forgot you were born a hundred years ago."

"We can't all just marry the first person we find interesting on sight, Bob."

"I'm going to punch you." And she did, with half the force Bucky expected coming from her. He probably deserved that but it didn't mean he didn't enjoy teasing her. The thing about friendship is that it's a two-way street. If they could annoy him, he could annoy them right back. 

* * *

In their three days in Berlin, Bucky and Bobbi learned three things: the security cameras were moved slowly over the starting around three days before Voigt was even killed, which was done remotely; the dealer who last saw Voigt described the woman he disappeared with was a blonde with sharp features and brown eyes; not a lot of people were mourning Voigt’s death outside of his immediate family, which meant that the list of people responsible for his assassination wasn’t exactly short.

Bucky stared at the composite sketch they had of the woman and sighed in his desk. This woman was meticulous and smart—smarter than he was, definitely. The crime scene had been trampled with by the casino goers who used the bathroom that day and none of the staff members could recall a beautiful blonde woman mingling among them or anyone new reporting to work for the day. Once again, they were caught in a standstill, the assassin free and able to take down another person in any minute.

Bobbi knocked on his door and peeked inside. “Hey, I’m turning in for the night. You should, too.” 

He took a look at the files on his table again and sighed, getting up and grabbing his jacket. He hasn’t even been able to come home to his apartment since they arrived back at Paris, too busy trying to chase a ghost. “I’ll drive you.” 

“You need to sleep too. You barely blinked when we were in Berlin.” 

“I barely sleep anyway,” he admitted as he walked Bobbi to his car. He opened the passenger door for her before slipping in himself. 

“Nightmares, still?” 

Paris at night was a sight to behold but he barely paid it any attention. He’s seen it all before. Unlike most people who came to Paris for love or for leisure, he always found himself staying in the city for work. “Just good old fashioned insomnia. And don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” Bobbi asked, one of her smirks on her face.

“Like a doting mother.”

Instead of answering, Bobbi only stared out of the window, eyes taking in the city at night. “I was surprised to find out that you’re on this case. You're not much of a spy. And besides, I thought you were retiring.”

“I thought so, too, but people won’t let me.”

“Or you just can’t quit. You’re some kind of workaholic, I’ve told you this before.”

“The pot says to the kettle,” he chuckled. He’s only worked with Bobbi on a handful of missions before but he’s found her company to be one of the most tolerable. Unlike some people in his life, she didn’t walk on eggshells around him and told it as it was. He could trust her to be honest with him no matter how harsh the honesty might be.

They were at a stoplight when Bobbi spoke again. “Hey, isn’t that your girlfriend?”

Bucky followed her line of sight and found Natasha sitting outside of a restaurant and dining with a man whose back was turned towards them. Her hair was tied up into a bun, lips red as blood. She looked every bit as beautiful as when he left except instead of her usual playful expression, her face was a blank canvas. The man she was with looked older, his hair graying. He couldn’t see his face properly but when he pushed a small velvet box in front of her, Bucky’s stomach flipped.

The light turned green before Bucky could watch her open the box, a mild sense of dread filling him at the thought of there being a ring inside of it. 

“Who was that with her?” Bobbi asked as they drove away.

“Dunno,” he shrugged. “'S none of our business either.”

Bobbi rolled her eyes and left it at that and he wished more than anything not to care about his neighbor as much as he was but later that night, he found himself wide awake and staring holes into his ceiling. He wondered who the man was, what the small velvet box contained, and why she looked so detached as she sat there. Was that one of her… clients? She did tell him what she did for a living. Was that a business transaction of sorts? A payment? A proposal?

Bucky groaned and slipped out of bed to open a window for a cigarette break. She definitely wasn’t home yet. Since he's moved there, he'd notice that she would play music at night and it would filter up into his room. The night was still and silent, not a hint of life from the apartment below his. And, as the sun rose on him hours later with his laptop on his coffee table and three cups of coffee later, he realized that she hadn’t come home at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
_Chapter Title: Lady Sunshine & Mr. Moon - Conny Froboess ♫_
> 
> More Bobbi is always good in my opinion. I hope you all enjoyed reading. Thank you! 


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